“I’m not eating anything from now on till we land! Take them all away!” yelled a bald and thin Japanese businessman. Everyone in the Business Class heard him, including myself working in the galley. I peeped through the curtain and saw a Japanese flight attendant almost on both her knees, begging for forgiveness from Lord Voldemort.

Everyone asked curiously what had happened when she returned to the galley, one hand holding the appetiser. “The bread was not hot enough,” she gave a typical Japanese regretful sigh. Another Japanese girl who heated up the bread (the culprit!) kept apologising to everyone. She kept her I-am-so-sorry look probably even after we landed. I was thrilled. For a moment I was naïve enough to believe that I really didn’t have to serve him again for the rest of the 13-hour flight.

A few minutes later You-Know-Who decided to put on his eye mask and rested. I tiptoed every time I passed by him, for fear that I would awake the dark lord.

The passenger call light flashed. Unsurprisingly, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named woke up an hour later. Nobody wanted to go apparently. “Avada Kedavra!” [The Killing Curse that causes instantaneous and painless death (seriously painless?)], I visualized him taking out his wand on my way to his seat.

「ラーメンいただけますか？」(Would you please give me a bowl of ramen?), Lord Voldemort must have disguised himself as Professor Dumbledore, asking me in the most polite form of Japanese. The scar on my forehead ached, which reminded me not to be deceived.

Everyone genuinely trusted my last name was Potter when I went back to the galley alive. Four of us prepared the hottest ramen and coldest green tea ever in human history for him. He ordered food and drinks more than six times after that.